


dinner & diatribes

by alisdas



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (reader is kinda in love but dont tell her shell lose her shit), F/M, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Force Bond (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Mutual Pining, Sith!Obi-Wan Kenobi - Freeform, Snark, but not really, flirtatious fighting, jedi!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23133250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisdas/pseuds/alisdas
Summary: You’re not surprised when he finds you. He always does.His title is whispered in the deepest, darkest corridors of Coruscant; the thickest, most humid rainforests of Felucia. A phantom, a wraith, more myth than man. A ghost story shrouded in darkness, a faceless figure in an ever-shifting crowd. His very name instills fear into the most powerful individuals in the galaxy.Darth Callidus.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader, Sith!Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader, ben kenobi/reader, sith!obi-wan kenobi/jedi!reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 221





	dinner & diatribes

You’re not surprised when he finds you. He always does.

His title is whispered in the deepest, darkest corridors of Coruscant; the thickest, most humid rainforests of Felucia. A phantom, a wraith, more myth than man. A ghost story shrouded in darkness, a faceless figure in an ever-shifting crowd. His very name instills fear into the most powerful individuals in the galaxy.

_ Darth Callidus. _

“My Jedi,” he greets you, a purr in your ear — an untethered presence in the surrounding blackness, a familiar voice that makes your heart jolt and your stomach turn. He is nowhere and everywhere at once; a slight breath against the back of your neck and you twist around, reaching for your scabbard—

Even when you ignite your lightsaber, illuminating the space just around you, he is not to be seen or heard. The room remains black as night, silent as death, save for the glowing heliotrope of your saber and the comforting buzz in your hands. Your breaths come shaky, now, as adrenaline floods your brain and every nerve — you’re suddenly out of breath, and you’re not quite sure  _ why _ . Maybe it’s because you know he’s watching you. Maybe it’s because you can  _ feel _ him, that guileful whisper of power against your mind, somehow cold and warm at the same time, light and dark, tranquil and chaotic. A mind-dizzying contradiction that shouldn’t intrigue you as much as it does.

“Callidus,” you greet, stepping forward gingerly. Your eyes remain trained on your surroundings, hoping for all the world that he’ll give himself away in one way or another — alas, there is nothing. No quiet steps. No miniscule breaths. No movement of a cloak from the corner of your eye. “It’s been a while.”

He hums, and it echoes all around. “It has. Have you missed me, my dear?”

“Oh, of course.” You round the corner, now, saber still beared. “Destroying droids is no fun when you’re not trying to kill me.”

“I imagine.”

“I heard about your stunt on Coruscant—” A rush of air behind you — but just as you expected, he’s not there when you turn around. Gritting your teeth, readjusting your grip, you continue on. “Must’ve taken a lot out of you.”

_ And Padmé Amidala _ ; the recipient of Callidus’ assassination attempt. You’ve met the senator once or twice — a moral, just woman with a kind heart — and it was obvious why the Separatists would want her dead. Too outspoken, too powerful. The only viable solution for them was a lightsaber to the throat — luckily, General Skywalker had been present and able to fend him off long enough to call for backup.

“Hm. In some way, I suppose.” He sounds more amused than anything, a tone that makes you sick to your stomach. How can he be so unsympathetic? So unperturbed? So openly admitting to the attempted murder of an innocent woman.

_ This is the enemy,  _ you remind yourself. No matter how many times the lines have been blurred. No matter how many times you’ve thought he’s shown you mercy. No matter how much you… you forgot the natural order of things, the balance that  _ must _ be kept—

“ _ Oh, _ I know what you’re thinking, my Jedi,” Callidus chuckles — a smooth, rolling sound that swerves from one ear to the next. "I know you better than you know yourself, I think."

"As  _ if _ ." And it comes as a snarl, a product of the steadily-growing irritation in your chest that takes you by surprise. “You don’t know me.  _ You don’t know me _ .”

“Perhaps if you repeat it to yourself enough, you’ll believe it,” muses the Sith Lord, prompting yet another unstoppable hiss from your chest. He only huffs a laugh at it. “Does it still surprise you? The way I make you feel.”

Your tongue stops short in your mouth — words fizzling from their anger-fueled peak to rest at the bottom of your stomach. _ The way he makes you feel _ . 

(The traitorous turning of your stomach at the sound of his voice. The fluttering of your heart when he leans close, a teasing quip on the tip of his tongue — the nervous lump in your throat when he so blatantly makes his 'affections' known. 

But how could he know? You barely knew yourself.)

_ I know you better than you know yourself, I think _ . 

Maybe he does. But admitting it to both yourself  _ and _ to him will have dire consequences.

“The only thing you make me  _ feel  _ is annoyance.”

"Yes, I'm sure." There's an odd, lilting pause. "Jedi have never been very good liars—"

"And I suppose you can just  _ tell  _ when I'm lying?" You snark. Your shoulder bumps against the hardness of a wall and you very nearly jump out of your own skin — realising just how on edge you are. How on edge he  _ makes _ you. "I'm getting tired of this. Turn on the lights so we can fight, or  _ leave _ ."

Another scoffed laugh. "You're hardly in a position to be making demands, my dear. But for you, I'll offer a trade. I'll turn on the lights. You'll stay and talk."

_ Preposterous. _ "That's preposterous," you splutter — but that blanket of heat rises from your ears and your neck to grace your cheekbones. "This isn't the time for small talk. And not with  _ you _ ."

He hums. "Then I suppose you can stay here, in the dark, until your squadron finds you. It could be hours, you know, and those pesky battle droids are sure to find a way in.”

“I’m a patient woman.”

“And I am a patient man.” His voice comes directly behind you, now, but you don’t bother with turning around. You simply still, all too aware of your shaky breathing as he ventures closer and closer, until you can fill the gentle warmth of his breath pulling goosebumps from your skin. “But we both know you’d rather see me, wouldn’t you?”

Even through the unseeable blackness you have a feeling he can sense your reluctant,  _ outraged  _ smile. It always makes an appearance where he’s involved — and he’s  _ always _ been involved. And he’s always been like this, too. Teasing, pestering. Tossing out smart comments between slashes of his blood red saber, dangerously coquettish. All too reminiscent of some large, fearsome predator playing with his food, batting his beaten-down prey between two meaty paws — because for all his amiability, there is no doubt that Darth Callidus could spear you through his lightsaber without a second thought. 

_ But why hasn’t he?  _ A little voice asks.  _ Why is it  _ **_you_ ** _ he’s taken a liking to? _

(Liking is a strong word. And yet, the sentiment still stands.)

The lights flicker on, showcasing the cold, metal walls and ceilings of the separatist storage unit.

“I never agreed to your terms.”

“Oh, but you already have.”

This time when you turn around, saber still ignited, jaw clenched, he is there. Your lungs still for a moment — unwillingly — before they catch on an inhale once more. You readjust your grip on your saber, swallowing. "Callidus."

He is swathed in dark fabric — a tunic and pants covered in a black cloak, pulled up to cover his head. From the overhead lights, an impermeable shadow is cast over the strong curve of his nose, the thick golden bristles of hair that decorate his jaw.

Sith.  _ Undeniably  _ Sith. If not from his rugged, silently threatening appearance, then his presence; thick and cloying, like too-sweet treacle. The kind that rots your teeth and turns your stomach, but is oh so achingly familiar.

"Yes, that is me."

He is shameless; lets his gaze shift slowly and purposefully across the synclines and anticlines of your face — then down and down, across the neckline of your tunic, the simple chain gifted to you by your Master, to the belt cinched around your waist. You’d throw out a demeaning quip if only your brain was wired to your mouth — the connection severed because of  _ him _ .

“Your saber,” he says, pointedly glancing at the weapon. “You made a deal.”

You didn’t make a deal, and you hadn’t  _ planned _ to, either, but for some  _ kriffing  _ reason you listen. Your lightsaber disappears back into nonexistence, leaving behind a fuzzy blanket of silence in the absence of its comforting hum. Callidus stares at you. You stare back. 

And suddenly, the tension swells and breaks — Callidus takes a step towards you, shoes thudding against the floor. Then another, and another, and you’re holding your breath and he’s getting closer and closer and—

He raises his hand, outstretches his fingers. Brushes away a stray strand of hair that had been tickling your cheek, frighteningly gentle.

“Don’t,” you snap, but it’s weak and frail, shaking from your throat with all of the uncertainty you feel on display for his criticism. “Don’t, Callidus.”

There’s no fight in your voice. No  _ real _ fight; just the type that’s expected of you, the type that you so desperately want to practice but can’t bring yourself to, and he knows that. Perhaps that’s why his hand drifts down to your chin, cupping it while smoothing his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. You barely restrain a whimper, screwing your eyes shut.

_ Be One with the Force. Be One with the Force. _

“Call me by my  _ name _ , my love.”

_ My love _ . The way he  _ says _ it almost breaks your heart — the quiet, hidden desperation, the anticipation. But — but he’s the  _ enemy _ .

“No.”

No, you can’t say it, because you know that it brings with it something unspoken — a call to the past, his old life, the man he was before you met him. And as much as you hate to admit it, he really  _ does _ know you — knows that, should you open yourself to the idea of him, the idea of the man behind the blood-red saber, you will begin to  _ hope  _ for him. 

The lost Jedi knight of Master Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan Kenobi. A man lost to the dark side of the Force, a man lost to his own anger and fear.

You will begin to hope for him, and hope makes you do dangerous,  _ dangerous _ things.

(Obi-Wan —  _ Callidus  _ — knows that.)

“Why?” He says, lips tilting up in amusement. Still, his hand stays firm on your chin. 

“You  _ know  _ why I won’t, you kriffing bastard.” And yet, you find your eyes drifting from his too-intense gaze to the softness of his lips, shrouded in the shadow of his cloak. What would he taste like, you wonder? Sweet, like Juja-cake. Or spicy, like cinnamon and nutmeg and—

You’re suddenly unsure whether these are  _ your _ thoughts or  _ his. _ That realisation punches through your gut like a herd of stampeding banthas — because  _ Maker _ , you should  _ not _ be so in tune with him. You shouldn’t be able to suddenly so greatly appreciate the curve of your brow or the upturned pout of your lips — you shouldn’t be able to not distinguish his longing from your longing and your hope from his hope and—

“You can feel it?”

You stay silent. Of  _ course  _ you can feel it; there’s no point in lying when your emotions are so heavily laid bare for him. Callidus swipes his thumb over your lip once more before backing away — you release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, curling your hands into fists so hard that you dig half moons into your palms. You feel like everything is unravelling — your teaching, your obstinate loyalty to the Order, all being tugged away inch by inch with every  _ second  _ you spend here.

“I’m not crazy, then,” he murmurs, laughing to himself — and he takes a step or two back, tugging his hood down and running a hand over his beard. You shut your eyes and try  _ desperately _ to centre yourself once more — ignoring the emotions that were  _ not _ yours, ebbing and flowing over your mind. 

Longing and passion and  _ fear _ , fear and longing and passion. 

They all melt together, an oil slick on the ocean of your psyche. And as someone who’d been trained in acknowledging your emotions and then brushing them away, the force of these feelings is enough to render you breathless. You try to force them down, shove them to the recesses of your brain, but they only come back tenfold.

This is all becoming too — too  _ confusing _ . Too  _ much _ . You weren’t supposed to be the centre of  _ anything _ . You’re a Jedi knight, sworn to give your life for peace, for democracy. You were never meant to be more than a blip on the radar of the Sith.

Callidus glances up from the floor, still happily smiling. “The bond between us is strong, my Jedi. You mustn't shy away from it.”

“We  _ can’t _ . I — I  _ won’t _ .”

“And why not?” His voice toes the line between genuine curiosity and patronization. His hands shift to clasp behind his back, and untroubled, he begins to stroll backwards. From his movement you catch the beginnings of thick, black lines needled into the skin of his wrist, but you are quick to look away. “Because you are a Jedi, and I, a Sith?”

“I fight for peace. For  _ harmony _ . For the good of the galaxy. What do  _ you _ fight for? The opposite.”

There’s a moment in which Darth Callidus stills. With his back to you, he makes for an even more formidable figure, drenched in black from head to toe, like a statue carved from marble. Then, minutely, he turns his head toward you.

“Peace is a lie. There is only passion.” Turning even further, until he stands facing you again. "And you'll find I have a great deal of it."

His eyes — almost frosty in their grey-blueness — trail over your features with renewed energy once more (focusing momentarily, you realise, upon your lips), and, well—

You flounder, mouth opening and closing, though nothing but air comes out. You don’t know why  _ this _ is the thing making you so flustered — after all, he’s never been exactly  _ shy _ with his intentions, that much is plainly obvious from his earlier caresses, but… but.... 

“I know what it is that you want,” you say, finally. You steel your nerves and hold your chin high, clenching your fists once more. “And I can’t give it to you. I am loyal to the Jedi Order, and I always will be. So either  _ kill _ me, or leave me  _ alone. _ ”

Darth Callidus hums — lips spreading in an imposing smile. The downwards flicker of his eyes — he’s caught your subsequent shiver, and it only makes him all the more smug. “Of course.”

The light flickers once. Twice. Three times, before resuming its previous blackiness. Just as you reach back for your lightsaber —  _ just  _ as your fighting instincts kick back into drive, you feel the brush of something soft against your lips. Your lungs almost  _ collapse _ with surprise — but the feather-soft weight is gone as soon as it comes. The chain around your neck tinkles, and something cool and metal hangs against your collarbone.

The dark chuckle of Darth Callidus resounds throughout the room. “Till next time, my Jedi.”

The lights quiver back into power, and Darth Callidus is nowhere to be found. Leaving you only with hot cheeks, numb lips, and a tiny little charm attached to your chain.

(Your communicator buzzes back to life. 

“—come in, _____. Come  _ in _ . _____, are you alright?” It’s Captain Rex, the sound of blasters echoing in the background.

“I’m fine.”

“And Callidus?”

Your cheeks flush at the thought, and your stomach turns. This isn’t good.

“He…”  _ Loyalty to your Order, loyalty to your morals, loyalty to… to… _ “He got away.”)


End file.
